by Rick Hautala
So on she went, shivering and stumbling. Her tears froze on her face before she wiped them away with the flats of her gloved hands. And all the while, she was thinking that the woods and this night were never going to end. Her legs felt increasingly leaden, and she staggered more and more, like she’d been drinking. Whenever she stopped and leaned against a tree for support, her breath came out in a silver mist that rapidly dissolved into the icy darkness.
“I can make it,” she whispered. “I know I can.”
So on she went…into the darkness…
~ * ~
Until finally…amazingly…a glimmer of light shone through the trees.
At first, Claire didn’t believe her own eyes. She wondered if this might be another trick the demon who was after her was playing on her…like a will-o’-the-wisp. She hadn’t crossed B Road—or any road—yet, and she knew she couldn’t have missed it, even in the dark and snow.
But where am I?
She made her way toward the light, if only to see if it was an illusion or real. She wondered how far away the light—and maybe B Road—was, and if she could walk that far, much less all the way to the bus station. The light appeared to be shifting away from her, no matter how slow or fast she walked toward it.
This has to be a trick, she thought, a demonic trick.
Her eyes kept dancing back and forth as she looked around the dark woods, trying to get a fix on what was ahead of her. She was tensed, poised and waiting for a shadow—or shadows—to separate from the darkness and close in on her.
The forest closed down around her like a dark, heavy blanket.
Every footstep became increasingly labored, and the thought that she would die before she ever saw civilization again filled her with a deep, gnawing fear that fueled her efforts. She tried to block out any images of her corpse, rotting away in the woods, being picked apart by crows and the turkey vultures who hovered over the potato fields in the summer and fall.
“Just…keep…moving,” she said. She couldn’t help but think about the Jack London story, “To Build a Fire,” which she had read in high school.
“Don’t go, but if you do go, don’t go alone.”
Good advice, but who could she trust to go with her?
Certainly not the demon who’d been impersonating Samael all day.
Whoever…or whatever was trying to deceive her was good. He had her fooled most of the day. But now that she thought about it, throughout the drive north, he had been acting uncharacteristically distant and curt. She had taken it as an indication he’d been more nervous than he had let on about the prospect of meeting her parents.
But he was a demon…At least in her experience, demons didn’t get nervous.
She was filled with a sudden, desperate need to hear Samael’s voice.
For the last time?
Don’t think it!...You’ll make it…You’ll get through this…
Iron cold clenched her chest. Her hands were shaking as she peeled off her gloves and hit the speed dial for Samael’s number.
He answered after the first ring, and Claire knew he’d been waiting, anxiously, to hear from her. Her spirits lifted…a little.
“Where are you?” he said, his voice snapping like the crack of a whip through the phone. “Are you all right?”
“I’m lost…in the woods,” she said as tears filled her eyes, blurring her vision and choking her voice.
“What do you mean?” His voice was calmer now, and she felt closer to him than she ever had before. It was almost as if he were standing right here next to her in the dark.
“I’m not sure where I am or which way to go.”
There was a long pause at the other end of the line. Claire could hear him breathing into the phone, and she thought—wished—hoped he was thinking of something he could do to help.
But how could he help when he was hundreds of miles away?
“You have to keep on going,” Samael finally said, his voice firm and tinged with concern. “You can’t give up now. You can’t let them get to us.”
I’m the one who might die, Claire thought but didn’t say.
“Does your cell phone have a GPS or Google maps…something that will point out where you are?”
Claire shook her head bitterly and said, “Mine just makes phone calls. It’s not a smart phone. Besides, I’m probably too far north to even have that service.”
“We’ll have to get you one when you get back,” Samael said, and she liked the way he assumed there would be a future time when they could get her one.
“So you’ll have to figure out where you are,” he said. “Just stay calm.”
She used her glove to wipe the tears from her eyes and took a calming breath as she looked around. She focused once again on the single light, glimmering like an illusion through the trees.
Speaking as much to herself as to Samael, she said, “I will.”
“I love you,” he said, his voice as soft now as when he whispered to her in the darkness of the bedroom.
“And I love you,” she said, fighting hard to contain the emotions that were welling up inside her. “I really do.”
“Call me as soon as you’re safe and on your way home, ‘kay?”
“I will,” Claire said.
And then she ended the call and started walking toward the pinpoint of light.
~ * ~
Claire had no idea how she eventually made it to the bus station, but sometime before dawn, at the end of a night she had been convinced would never end, she found herself sitting in the waiting area of the bus terminal. The heater was going full blast and was making her sweat.
The light she had seen through the trees had, in fact, turned out to be a house—the Crosby house, as it turned out. She had known the Crosby family since she was a kid growing up here. Their children—a son, Andrew, and a daughter, Alice—had been a few years ahead of Claire in school. They were old enough so she had never been friends with either of them, but she knew them well enough to smile and say “hi.” As far as she knew, the old folks were still living in the old family home. At least her parents had never mentioned to her that they had died, and her mother was good at keeping her posted on who had died in town.
She had approached the house, thinking she’d wake them up and ask for help, but as she got close to the house, their dog started barking. He sounded mean enough to avoid, and she decided that if she showed up at this ungodly hour, word would definitely get back to her parents. Then she’d have some explaining to do.
But at least it was a familiar landmark. She knew where she was.
So she had kept on walking until she made it to the bus station about an hour later.
She sat on a bench in the far corner of the room where she could keep an eye on anyone and everyone who came or went. Not that there were many people around at this hour. Houlton wasn’t exactly a bustling town, and she didn’t want to be seen by anyone who might report back to her parents. And she certainly didn’t trust any strangers she might see because he—or she—might be the demon who was trying to trick her.
The front desk didn’t open for another hour, so she bought a Pepsi and some Ritz crackers with peanut butter from the vending machines, and sat as far away from everyone as she could.
When dawn broke, the sun shining a bright orange beam across the floor, Claire was wrung out with exhaustion, she didn’t dare to nap now because she still didn’t feel safe.
When will I feel safe? She wondered.
She doubted she’d feel much better even once she was on board a bus heading south. Even then, if she didn’t recognize anyone on the bus, she wouldn’t dare let her guard down. The strain was getting to her.
The office finally opened at six A.M. She recognized the man behind the desk selling tickets. He was Mr. Henry, a friend of her father’s. He’d been working here since before she’d left home for college, and this morning, he was as efficient as a machine, going through the routine of selling and verifying tickets. A young w
oman with two children—one in a stroller—were in front of Claire. Once they were set, she stepped forward. When Mr. Henry recognized her, he smiled and greeted her warmly.
“Well, now, good mornin’ to yah, Claire,” he said, but then his expression darkened and he added, “What in the blazes, if you don’t mind me askin,’ are you doin’ here this time o’day?” Mr. Henry had a thick Maine accent and pronounced the word “here” as two syllables—“He-ahh.”
“I’m heading south,” Claire said, hoping to keep her voice friendly and firm.
She knew she must look a wreck after spending the whole night thrashing around in the woods, but there wasn’t much she could do about that now. First thing when she got to the bus station, she had gone into the ladies room and fixed herself up as best she could, but her hair was still a tangled mess, and her makeup was gone.
“Just like old times, huh?” Mr. Henry smiled. “I ‘member when you was in college, you comin’ in and takin’ the bus back to university after holidays and such.”
“That was a long time ago, Mr. Henry,” she said with a tight smile. Truth to tell, Mr. Henry didn’t look to have aged much in the intervening years.
“I didn’t know you was in town. Your father never mentioned it.”
“We—I just came up for the day yesterday.” She hoped that would satisfy him, but this was small-town Maine, and word of mouth would get around about her being at the station at the crack of dawn, buying a ticket south.
“I had a bit of—ah, car trouble, and I have to get back to Portland for work.”
“Bus won’t get to Portland ‘till after two o’clock this afternoon,” he said as he handed her the ticket. She fumbled in her purse—glad she had hung on to it—and paid with a credit card.
“I’ll have to do my best,” she said.
“Ay-yuh. Wouldn’t want to lose a job in this economy.”
Claire nodded and started to leave so the person behind her—an elderly man wearing a tattered and faded suit coat—could buy his ticket. She didn’t recognize him and scanned him surreptitiously, wondering if he was the demon who was after her. How easily could he assume a new disguise?
Before she left the ticket desk, though, Claire turned back to Mr. Henry.
“Somethin’ the matter?” he asked.
She realized he must be reacting to the expression on her face, but her voice was steady as she lowered it to a whisper and said, “I’d appreciate if you didn’t mention me being here to my folks. They think I left yesterday evening, and they’d just be worried if they knew…”
Her voice faded away because she didn’t know what else to say. She had no doubt that, before the morning was over, Mr. Henry would make a call to her father and tell him the whole story.
Since there was nothing more she could do about it, she took her ticket and went back to the furthest corner to wait. An hour and a half later she was sitting in a Greyhound bus, heading south on I-95.
~ * ~
Claire sat at the back of the bus, hoping her position clearly communicated to everyone: Leave me the fuck alone. Fortunately, the young woman with the two kids sat up front behind the driver. They started whining as soon as the bus, belching a huge plume of dense, sooty exhaust, pulled out of the station. There were only a few other passengers. The old man she had noticed earlier was seated about halfway to the back of the bus. He smiled and nodded to Claire as she passed, but after that, he appeared to studiously ignore her.
Appeared…Claire thought, wondering if that was exactly how he would behave…until he managed to get her alone.
There were other passengers—the usual mix of bus riders—people who for whatever reason didn’t have or use private transportation. A couple of kids who looked like 60s hippies sat closer to Claire. They had, obviously, gotten baked first thing in the morning before their bus trip. They kept looking around and giggling like harmless morons.
Or are they harmless? Claire wondered. What if the demon is one of them? It’s perfect cover for the unsuspecting.
Claire shook her head, telling herself to stop being so damned paranoid, but another voice in her head told her she had to stay alert for any and all possible dangers. Still, she didn’t have to get paranoid and jump or cringe at every sound or anything that moved. No matter what she told herself, her hands were shaking as she drew her cell phone from her purse and hit the speed dial for Samael’s number.
The phone rang once…twice…and by the third ring, a vague sense of uneasiness stirred within her.
“Come on.”
The phone rang a fourth time.
“Answer the phone…”
Or will it kick over to voicemail?
“Pick up…Pick up,” she whispered.
Beads of sweat formed on her forehead and ran, tickling, down the sides of her face and back of her neck. The hot air vent was blowing directly into her face, but try as she might, she couldn’t get it to shut off. She considered switching seats but didn’t want to draw attention to herself.
Remember, they’re really after Samael, not you…but they’ll use you to get to him…
A fifth ring, and then the phone clicked.
What if they got to him already?
For what seemed a terribly long moment that, in reality, must have been only a second or two, tops, there was utter silence. Her breath caught like a hot coal in her throat. Her heart was racing so fast her vision jumped in time with it.
And then—
“Hey.”
It was almost impossible to hear him over the roaring sound the bus was making, but relief instantly flooded Claire.
“Hey, yourself,” she said breathlessly, leaning forward and cupping the phone with her hand so the stoners or anyone else wouldn’t hear her.
“So where are you?” he asked. He sounded nervous…edgy, and Claire thought that was a good sign. “Are you safe?”
Claire scanned the passengers in the bus. Except for the young mother, who was trying to breastfeed the infant, everyone else was either dozing or reading a morning newspaper. The hippies were chatting and texting on their phones. The steady loud rumble of the bus was far from soothing, but in her relief, Claire realized just how exhausted she was.
“I think so. I’m on the bus, heading south,” she said. “I won’t get into Portland until—” She fished her ticket from her pocket and checked the ETA to be sure. “Looks like two forty-five this afternoon.”
“I’ll be there. Greyhound, right?”
“Yup.”
“I’ll be there. Don’t worry.”
A little late for that advice, Claire thought but didn’t say.
“So how are you?” she asked. “Did you have any…trouble last night?”
There was an uncomfortably long pause at the other end of the line. Claire sensed he was debating what or how much to tell her.
“Nothing I couldn’t handle. Bush-league stuff,” he said finally. It was vague and threatening enough so she did, in fact, begin to worry.
But a cell phone—easily compromised—was not the way to discuss it.
“So you must not have had any trouble finding your way out of the woods.”
Like Samael, she decided not to tell everything so he wouldn’t worry. At least that was over!
“I was so worried about you last night. I couldn’t sleep.”
DO you ever sleep? Claire wanted to ask but didn’t. She smiled at the note of genuine concern—worry, even—in his voice. Closing her eyes, she imagined they were already back together.
“I’m beat after hiking all night. It’s weird because…it’s like it was all a bad dream or something.”
She sighed and shook her head.
“Well, don’t fall asleep yet,” Samael said. “You have to keep your eyes open. Know who it is.”
“Who?” Claire asked as an icy jolt speared her gut.
His comment removed any doubt. This was all real. As crazy as the events of last night seemed, Samael had just validated all the danger and fea
r she had been through—and still had to go.
The threat was real.
“Can you tell me?”
“Not over the phone.”
“Okay,” she said, not satisfied but accepting it.
She started to chuckle, amused to realize how they were talking in clipped sentences like they were spies on a secret mission or something, but then she realized the seriousness of what was going on here.
Samael’s life and hers—maybe even their souls—were in jeopardy.
“So…” Her throat caught, and she had to clear it before she could continue. “So what do I do? How much danger am I really in?”
“Hard to tell, but I think you’ll be fine. Just don’t talk to anyone…and certainly don’t go off alone with anyone.”
“Don’t worry about that, but am I…?”
She didn’t dare finish the sentence, but she knew that Samael knew what she had been about to ask.
Is there a chance I could get hurt or killed?
“You’ll be fine. None of them can do anything to you except maybe frighten you. But they can’t harm you, per se.”
“Per se, huh?”
“I’m absolutely positive. There are…certain guidelines and restrictions. It’s too complicated to get into right now.”
Claire was about to say something when she happened to look up and see the old man, staring down the length of the bus aisle, looking directly at her. Her breath caught as if she’d been sucker punched. When she met the old man’s steady stare, he didn’t blink or turn away. He kept staring at her, his eyes shining with a pale light.
“I think I see him,” she whispered into the phone.
The old man leaned further out into the aisle all the while keeping his gaze fixed on Claire. She sank further into the corner of the seat, wishing she could disappear, but he didn’t look away.
Don’t get up…Don’t start coming toward me…I’ll scream…I swear to God I will.
“See who?”
“There’s an old man on the bus,” she whispered. “And he’s—watching me. It’s really creepy.”
“Has he said anything to you?”
“No…not unless he said something in the bus terminal this morning when I first noticed him then, but I was…I don’t remember if we spoke or not. I don’t think so.”